Winking and Other Vulgar Activities
by Aate
Summary: It's flirting, plain and simple, although it takes them a while to realize it.
1. Chapter 1

It began with a wink.

Which was rather unexpected and really quite surprising, seeing as Percival Graves was neither a flirtatious nor a playful man. He was Director of Magical Security and head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement by profession and a serious, precise man by nature. People bowed and cowered and stared when he walked pass, some trying to shrink away while others yearned for his attention, trying to get closer, his reputation as MACUSA's most powerful magic user and an extremely competent auror, offspring of many similarly competent aurors, preceding him. Percival Graves had power, he had influence, he had wealth, all of which he regarded as something that brought him duties and responsibilities, duties and responsibilities to be taken seriously. He most certainly was not someone who went about winking at people.

Yet, that was how it began: with Percival Graves winking at Newt Scamander when the two of them sat on a bench in Central Park, side by side, leaning against each other while sharing a bag of hard peppermint candy.

Percival didn't have a particular reason for why he did it, not at least one he could have thought of at the time, but it was a sunny day in June, Newt had freckles on his nose and his hair had a shade to it as golden as the two rings on Percival's right hand, and Percival didn't even think about it when their gazes met, he just went on and – winked.

Newt's eyes widened, his lips parted and he stared at Percival for full two seconds before casting his gaze down to the peppermint bag in his hands. The golden curls fell on his eyes, he gave Percival a few glances from behind them, the tips of his ears reddening.

With the Sun warm on his skin, with a blushing Newt looking at him from under his lashes, from behind his hair, Percival decided it had been a lunch break well spent.

* * *

He tried it again a few days later, unable – or rather, unwilling – to resist the urge, the memory of Newt's blush – the blush caused by Percival– tempting him more than he could have anticipated beforehand.

This time they were having lunch at the mess hall of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All around them there were aurors eating and chatting, the clatter of cutleries steady background noise, the smell of meatballs and frying fat heavy in the air. Newt was playing with his mashed potatoes more so than eating, flinching every time there was a particularly loud burst of laughter coming from the surrounding tables, and it was clear he was uncomfortable in such a crowded place. That didn't, however, do anything to prevent the blush from spreading on his face the minute he saw Percival winking at him over the table.

* * *

The third time Percival winked at Newt, making him blush, Newt was standing by Tina Goldstein's desk with his suitcase in hand, the blue coat draped over his arm, and Percival just happened to be walking by.

* * *

"You're doing it on purpose," Newt said after the eighth time it had happened.

They were enjoying each other's company in Percival's sitting room, playing chess, sharing a bottle of apple wine after a hearty dinner. The fire was dancing in the fireplace and they were sitting in comfortable armchairs in front of it, the chessboard floating there between them. Newt had his feet up on Percival's lap and Percival was rubbing circles on his bare soles absent-mindedly, focused on the game.

"Am I?" he asked, distracted, as he gave his knight the order to move to the left, an order the knight instantly obeyed. "And what is it, exactly, that I'm doing on purpose?"

Percival took a sip of his wine, watching on as Newt's black knight moved to the safety of his Queen, out of reach. The wine was sweet on his tongue, a little too sweet, perhaps, but he didn't much mind, and he had his white bishop moving closer, hoping to corner Newt's king.

"You're trying to make me blush," said Newt, "on purpose. It almost seems like you've made a habit of it as of late."

Ah. That. Well.

"Do let me know, if you want me to stop," Percival aimed for nonchalant. Throat suddenly tight, he urged his rook forward – only for Newt's bishop to strike it down with a wooden axe the very next moment.

Newt coughed once.

"You should know," he said softly, "that it can be a dangerous game, trying to embarrass me like that on purpose. Especially in public."

Despite of his words, Newt didn't sound offended at all. If anything, he spoke like he was offering Percival a challenge. Percival leant back, intrigued and relieved in equal measures, nursing the wine glass in his hand.

"How so?"

Newt's features were soft in the light of the fire.

"Because I just might retaliate."

It would take quite a lot for Newt to make him blush - it would frankly be nearly impossible - but if Newt wanted to give it a go, Percival could well humor him.

"We'll see about that," he therefore said. "I suppose."

He had his bishop striking Newt's knight down.

"Indeed," murmured Newt, looking at Percival rather than at his fallen knight on the chessboard.

His eyes were very round indeed.

Percival winked – and there was that lovely blush again.

Satisfied, with a pleasantly churning feeling in his belly, Percival turned his attention back to the game, failing thus to see the considering look he was given from the other side of the chessboard.

* * *

 _A/N: Wanna read more? Let me know._


	2. Chapter 2

"The length of it, Mr. Graves," Newt was saying, peering up at him from behind his fringe, "gives it a nice balance. You can't argue with comfort, can you."

Percival stood with his arms crossed, leaning his hip against the conference room table, and counted freckles. This meeting was all about numbers, after all, so it was advisable to stay focused on numbers in whatever form they presented themselves, freckles on a pretty face or otherwise.

"Perhaps not, Mr. Scamander," he leant a bit closer to count the smaller freckles on Newt's left cheek, "but I do argue it's a matter of habit rather than comfort."

"Oh?"

"Oh indeed," his voice was low, no need to raise it when the conference room was quiet. "Perhaps you should truly consider a pen, Mr. Scamander, even if it is not what you're used to. You might learn of its pros."

"And of its cons, most likely, Mr. Graves. Wouldn't you agree?"

Newt's chin jut out, but his eyes were sparkling.

Percival's smile widened and he uncrossed his arms. Newt's gaze flickered down to where their legs were touching. His cheeks reddened, and oh, that was another point to Percival. He was clearly in the lead, although he hadn't been following the score all that closely. It was a victory enough to bring out the blush.

"And of its cons, Mr. Scamander, yes," Percival said with a deep, sad sigh. "But even so," his voice was now barely above a whisper, "I have no doubt you would learn pens are indeed more practical than quills, if you just gave them a chance."

After counting a few more freckles from under the blush, he let his gaze go around the table from Seraphina twirling a pen in her hand at the head of the table to Bradford, Willington, Jenkins, Hillgorby and the other department heads gathered there in the conference room, and addressed them all, "And this, ladies and gentlemen, brings me to my conclusion."

Snapping his fingers, Percival had a piece of white chalk materializing in his hand. He walked back to the front and used the white chalk to underline the numbers he had drawn on the chalkboard. (When preparing for the presentation, he had even considered using _colored_ chalk, that's how excited he was to give this presentation, but had eventually given up on that overzealous idea in order to settle on using the standard white chalk to give his presentation the professional emphasis it deserved. The decision seemed to be working, no-one had even yawned yet, this year.)

"As we can see," Percival went on to say, "ink bottles are indeed costing us quite a lot more than pens."

It was a budget meeting, and Percival _loved_ budget meetings. _Loved_ them. He had been looking forward to this day for weeks now, browsing through the stack of last year's budget on a near daily basis, underlining the more important points, making calculations on how the department could become more balanced, financially. No-one had really commented on the memos he had sent out to all department heads, but even that hadn't dampened his excitement.

 _"It is wonderful to see you this happy,"_ had been Newt's comment when Percival had asked him about the memo, and he had sounded sincere when he had added, _"I'm looking forward to your presentation about the cost on office supplies, even if the subject might not be of as much interest to me as it is to you. It will be… nice, to see you in your element."_

True to his words, Newt's eyes – twinkling and bright – had followed Percival throughout the presentation. His fringe was on his face and his head was bowed, his shoulders hunched as always when in such formal surroundings, but his eyes were keen and hadn't left Percival but for moments. Apart from the three times Percival had so far made him blush, Newt had been looking at him closely the entire meeting. Some of his attentiveness seemed to have rubbed on to other department heads because even Freeheart from the Department of Forests and Cultivation wasn't glassy-eyed yet, like he usually was by the time Percival reached his budget conclusions. Instead, Freeheart was sitting up straight with clear interest, even leaning forward slightly as if afraid he might otherwise miss something.

"If we compare the costs between ink bottles and pens," Percival wrote the numbers down again to emphasize his point, "we can see we are _clearly_ wasting money. And please, note that these calculations are made based on the cost of ink bottles alone, and if we were to add in the quill costs, it would become even more obvious that pens are indeed the more financially efficient solution – presuming, of course, that we are willing to try out new things and to give pens a chance."

A wink had Newt's flush deepening even if the round eyes were quick to flicker away again.

Percival felt like flying.

"Thank you, Mr. Graves," said Seraphina after Percival brought his presentation to an end. A copy of the twenty-six page memo on the office supply situation materialized at the table in front of all department heads, its sudden appearance giving Jenkins a bit of a start, easily startled as the head of the department of Floo Network and Travel had been ever since the crawling skeleton incident.

"As always, your presentation was thorough," Seraphina said, browsing through the memo. "It gave us all a lot to consider."

* * *

"I didn't want to say anything with the others present," Seraphina went on later when it was just the two of them left in the conference room, "but it would be for the best if there was a little less flirting involved, the next time."

Percival gave a curt nod because he, too, had noticed the glances Bradford and Willington had kept on sharing over the table. Flirting at meetings was indeed quite unprofessional, but Bradford and Willington did their job which was really all that mattered. If they chose to engage in some eye flirtation, it wasn't really any of Percival's business.

Besides, he wasn't interested in gossiping, not even with Seraphina.

"That is to say," she said when he remained silent sorting through his papers, "I have nothing against romances between department heads per se, but you and I both _love_ budget meetings, and such, erm, _displays_ of romantic interest can be a bit distracting. It was gaining unneeded attention. We should stick to business."

"Understood," Percival said, curtly, because he had no interest in participating in office gossip. "Let's leave it at that, shall we."

"Very well," Seraphina agreed easily enough and they continued working on the budget in comfortable silence.

* * *

"You were great today," said Newt, timidly, as Percival helped him to brush Susan, the furmible. She was a huge thing, like a mammoth with a horn, but didn't mind their touches, used to the two humans as she was. "I'm afraid I couldn't bring myself to care about the subject matter at hand, but it was quite wonderful to see you enjoying yourself so. I'm glad I got to witness it."

Newt sounded as earnest as ever. The look he gave Percival was open, unguarded. _Fond._

Unable to look away, Percival picked hair off the furmible comb, absent-mindedly.

"I think I might even be willing to give a pen a chance."

"I'll bring you one of mine tomorrow. That's a win for the budget, after all."

"Certainly." Newt paused, giving him a side-long glance. "And… if I'm not entirely mistaken, I do believe that's one point to me."

"What do you mean?"

"I deserve a point," declared Newt, turning so they were facing each other in order to point at Percival with the brush, "because you, Percival Graves, are blushing. _I_ made you blush just now, didn't I?"

What?

Taken off-guard, Percival brought a hand up to his cheek. It felt warm. He _was_ blushing.

Huh.

Couldn't even recall the last time that had happened.

There was dirt on Newt's forehead from when he had brushed the fringe off his face. Cecil the Thunderbird had blown his curls into a mess, and Percival could've gotten drunk on the sight him. It was entirely possible his blush was becoming deeper.

Letting his hand fall to his side, Percival cleared his throat.

"Seems like a valid claim," he admitted.

Newt's grin grew until it turned into a real smile. He reached out a hand in his quiet gentle manner and touched Percival's heated cheek almost as if to feel for himself if the blush truly was real.

"It might surprise you," said Newt, caressing, "but I can be quite competitive, under certain circumstances."

Percival knew a challenge when he saw one.

"And do we find ourselves under these 'certain circumstances'?" he therefore pushed right back.

"Indeed we might," Newt mused, softly. "But you should know, my dear, that I can indeed be _quite competitive_ , and since you are in the lead with two hundred and fifty-two to one, I seem to have quite a lot of catching up to do."

Percival caught the hand as it was about to withdrew from his cheek. With his hold gentle enough around the wrist for Newt to pull free if he so wished to, he kept Newt's hand right where he wanted it, cupping his cheek. He let the brush drop, didn't even look where it landed. With his other hand now free, Percival took his time to swipe the fringe off Newt's face to properly look at him.

Merlin but _those freckles_.

"It's not in my nature to back down from a tempting challenge, doll," he said in a low voice, feeling Newt's shiver. "And you do indeed have a lot of catching up to do because the score now stands at two hundred and fifty- _three_ to one."


End file.
